


Five Times Micah And Molly Drove Matt Crazy

by Nope



Series: Five Times Micah [2]
Category: Heroes (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-21
Updated: 2007-10-21
Packaged: 2018-10-25 01:54:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10754310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nope/pseuds/Nope
Summary: Exactly what it says on the tin.





	Five Times Micah And Molly Drove Matt Crazy

So that was what getting shot felt like: it sucked. And no one mentioned the part where even after they got the bullets out and patched you up and stuck you full of sweet, sweet morphine, it still hurt like a bitch. All Matt wanted to do was sleep.  
  
"Why doesn't it beep?"  
  
"It isn't like TV. It only makes a noise when something is wrong. Quiet is good."  
  
Yes. Quiet was good. Lots of quiet and sleep and  
  
"But he's okay."  
  
"His heartbeat is strong and steady. The machine is only there as a post-operative precaution."  
  
"What does that mean?"  
  
"It's just to keep an eye on him. Like a sitter."  
  
"Oh."  
  
Silence again. He waited, eyelids too heavy to open and check, pain too present to just let go. He could hear himself breathing, the faint hum of the machines. Little else. Hospitals muffled sound. Good. He could feel himself slowly relaxing again, gently drifting, detaching from the dull ache and just drifting into soft, quite, sle  
  
"But how do you know?!"  
  
"The machines told me!"  
  
"Shhhh! Guys, please," Matt -- well, whined. But he'd been shot, sort of, so he felt it was okay under the circumstances. "I'm trying to sleep."  
  
"Sorry."  
  
"Sorry, Officer Parkman."  
  
Ahhh! Much better. Much  
  
_Should the machine beep? I could make it beep for Molly, but it might wake Officer Parkman up? Is he asleep yet? Am I making too much noise? Shhhh!_  
  
Matt sighed.  
  
#  
  
It was good to be, well, not exactly home again, because his wife was having another man's baby and had left him, and he was in Doctor Suresh -- Mohinder's appartment. But it was much better than the hospital with the ever present nurses who also, apparently, doubled as vicious, sadistic, dominatrixes with the prodding and the ordering and the icy glaring. He made a mental note to check if they had outstanding parking tickets. Hah! Take that! Anyway, the couch was quite comfortable, and he had nothing he had to do except relax.  
  
"Would you like a drink, Officer Parkman? I fixed the kettle."  
  
"Mohinder has tea!" Molly put in.  
  
"No, thanks, kids. I'm fine. And you can call me Matt, Micah."  
  
"Okay." Micah nodded solemnly. "Do you want a blanket?"  
  
"There are electric ones."  
  
"I'm good."  
  
"Or pillows? There are spares."  
  
"I could make you some toast if you're hungry. And you can watch TV. Micah can make it get the sports channels." Micah nodded agreement.  
  
"Really, I'm good."  
  
"Because if you want anything, we can get it," Micah said. "It's no trouble."  
  
"We're here to help," Molly agreed, nodding.  
  
"I'm just going to rest for a bit."  
  
"We'll be right over there if you need us," Molly said, pointing at the table.  
  
"We'll keep quiet. You won't know we're here."  
  
"Thanks."   
  
Matt waited. Neither kid moved.  
  
"There are lots of good books here," Micah added.  
  
"I could read to you!" Molly said.  
  
Matt sighed.  
  
#  
  
You couldn't fault the kids for trying to be helpful. Well, you could, but it would be a bit petty. Anyway, he could tell Molly was still worried about him, and Micah was distracting himself from his dad, so in the end he gave in and accepted a blanket he didn't need and a drink he didn't want and that had been enough to get them to withdraw to the table. Micah was reading a thick, blue-covered hardback intently, turning back and forth as he cross-referenced chapters. Molly was reading something paperback and pink. Matt stretched out and closed his eyes and  
  
_physical senses, while providing our only connection to the world around us, also limit our chestnut mares with a black flowing manes and tails, galloping wild and free across the mitochondrial DNA, see chapter thirteen, which is page two hundred and four wild stallions nickered softly as she came closer with her apple in her overcrowded living conditions, war, disease, and hundreds of other seen and unseen factors_  
  
Matt sighed.  
  
#  
  
In retrospect, he should have realised the downside of children who basically spent all day sat still together: by the time the evening rolled around, they had more energy than a posse of poppers on PCP and were just as easy to aggravate.  
  
Molly demonstrated a complete inability to sit still. Micah demonstrated a complete inability to keep his hands off Mohinder's laptop. Neither could make up their minds about what they wanted to eat, first fighting over who would cook, then what to cook, then how to cook it, then - when Matt finally gave up and said he'd get pizza - what toppings they wanted and, more loudly, what toppings they definitely didn't want and "that's gross" and "tell him, Matt" and Pepsi was too better than Coke and, what do you mean we can't have either? Maaaa-att!  
  
Micah found some sci-fi channel Matt didn't recognise, mostly because it was only on the screen for about three seconds before Molly complained and changed over. Cartoons replaced cookery, sports replaced them, the news lasted barely a second, they fought over the film channels (Shrek versus the Iron Giant versus "you're far too young to watch that!" versus "I'll explain when you're older (about fifty)"), scrabbled through the procedurals, got momentarily side-tracked by shop-TV ("no, Micah, you can't order terrabyte ethernet cards") and dead-ended in Natural History where the animals were just eating each other.  
  
When the pizzas finally arrived, the kids both promptly ignored their own hotly argued choices in favor of stealing his while wearing identical "what?" expressions.  
  
Matt sighed.  
  
#  
  
A distressed animal screech jerked him awake, scrabbling instinctively for his gun in the weird flickering half-light before his sleepy brain finally connected the noise to the still-on TV. Save for a few spots of streetlight sneaking past the curtains, the room was otherwise unlit. The pizza boxes had been left in a neat stack. There was no sign of the kids.  
  
"Molly? Micah?"  
  
No response. He pushed himself to his feet, looking around. None of the other appartment lights were on. Molly's door was half-open, the bedroom beyond it dark. The laptop was still up on top of the tank, out of Micah's reach, so Mohinder hadn't returned. The twinge in his chest wasn't entirely physical. There was a thin line, he knew, between cop instincts and cop paranoia. But it was so quiet.  
  
His gun was locked away. And empty, ammo locked in the draw. Safety, of course, you didn't leave loaded guns around children. Not useful when you're trying to move quietly in the dark. He'd feel stupid about this later. He hoped he'd feel stupid. He called the kids names again, softly. Nothing. He concentrated, turning his head, trying to listen in that whole new way he'd found. Faint scattered thoughts. Nothing specific. He was in an appartment block, of course there were other people around. And he was so keeping his gun to hand in future, he'd just have to make sure the kids were properly trained.  
  
Weapon finally in hand, he edged slowly across the appartment, checking the bathroom on the way past - empty - and then sidled up to Molly's room. He couldn't see anything inside, couldn't hear anything. Closer. A little closer. Gun at the ready. Stretched out a little with his foot. Pushed the door a little, ready for resistance, for anything. Pushed it again, letting it swing slow, lifting his gun in case of, of, of--  
  
Molly and Micah, curled up back-to-back and tip-to-toe in the bed.  
  
Matt sighed in relief. Goddamn kids were going to drive him crazy!


End file.
